There is often a tendency to fog the mind

Worse yet, feigning clarity the entire time

The moment comes when the fog it lifts

And lost time evaporates like Avalon mist.

The beauty in that, is when the insight hits you

Your cares diminish and you wear what fits you

No longer worried about what has been done

The focus becomes the Earth you stand upon.

Preference, proclivities, interests and love

Become actualities, not dreams stored above

Your skin holds you present, you understand fate

Can knock on your door on any given day.

With time less available possibilities seem clear

Not hindered by delays, or a doubter’s glare

The wrinkles diminish, the fabric’s laid out

Your mural is woven with life-affirming vows.

The threads, some are thicker and others don’t hold

Those with resilience are the ones to behold

The friends, fertility, the sustenance, the rations

Those textures you’ve offered in a life you’ve imagined.

Whether here for the duration or just one more day

The fog can be lifted in a myriad of ways

I’m guessing that most involve love in some fashion

And probably uncovering some long hidden passion.

Time is the question, creativity the solution

What inspires bliss and sidesteps retribution?

I shift my perspective as my time here wanes

And hope when breath fades that beauty remains.

From the archives, Tricia Schwaba, 2014